


Regret Tastes Acidic

by Darrasu



Category: RWBY
Genre: Anxiety, Emetophilia, Forced vomit, Gen, Nervousness, V3 post ep one, Vomit, gagging
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-28
Updated: 2015-10-28
Packaged: 2018-04-28 15:00:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,285
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5094986
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Darrasu/pseuds/Darrasu





	Regret Tastes Acidic

             _Regret_. That’s what could best sum up his current state of mind; with the way his hands shook from nerves and stomach churned with the meal previously devoured, there was nothing he wanted to do more than return to his dorm and hide away. Months upon months they practiced, just waiting for the day the Vytal Tournament finally began, allowing each Academy to show off their greatest—or _not_ so greatest—teams. Jaune had continuously trained day and night for this day, to become the leader his team deserved, the fighter that he yearned to be, and yet, now that the time had finally dawned, he was starting to have second thoughts.

            The worry of letting his team down weighed heavy on padded shoulders, the nervousness that settled to his stomach sitting with a sickly feeling, the nauseating feeling of failure lingering overhead. The moment his team was called over the loud speakers any bit of solidarity that he once held had vanished, and for a moment, he felt as if letting his team go without him would be the best. Despite the thoughts that lingered in his mind he had pushed himself up from the spot he’d been oh so comfortable at, slowly wobbling to his feet and shuffling away from the noodle stand.

            Just the action of standing was enough to jostle him, and he’s forced to swallow as he can feel his meal fighting back to escape, a shaky sigh faltering to follow. A gloved hand curls to the fabric of a dark hoody just below a heavy chest plate, clutching helplessly as if it would will the sick feelings away. Perhaps skipping his meal would have proved to be the wisest, the anxieties that swelled doing nothing more than making him feel as if he’d promptly choke it back up, and the way his feet barely lifted from the ground as he weakly attempted to catch up with his team made him but a spectacle to those around.

            The teams were to meet in the arena as they would go head-to-head for all to see, hundreds upon hundreds of people watching, cheering and booing alike, playing favorites and placing bets. The thought made him shudder, the imagery of the crowd gazing upon as he fought to bring his team to victory only added to the pressures that settled, and the shaking of hands escalated to a shiver that ran through his whole body.

            All he felt comfort in is the fact that his friends had a head start before he’d begun to follow, as he was able to handle himself in peace, the convulsive swallows and quiet curses going unnoticed to all but himself. They were late to the field as is, and the longer the crowd would have to wait, the less of a chance they had to be accepted into the battle, and by this point, the biggest letdown Jaune could give his team is not showing up at all. Yet, he still keeps some distance between them to their travels to the arena, allowing each to board the airship before himself.

            There wasn’t any time to deny that fact that he’d become ill, but there was time to make a conscious decision if he’d rather take care of himself in private or in front of a crowd, and obviously, privacy had triumphed. Ushering himself away from the bodies that moved by him to board the ships, the wooded area around them was, for once, a blessing rather than a never ending maze of curses. The hand that grips at a flipping stomach leaves its post once Jaune finds himself in the protection of a small group of trees, deciding that the spot was secluded enough that he’d hoped no one would stumble by. Shallow breaths leave through his nostrils, the constant salvation of his mouth leaving him helpless with nothing more than to swallow it back, each time becoming more difficult than the last as the feeling of his throat tighten and lock causes weak gags to sputter. Leaning his body up against the hard bark head is titled towards the Earth, eyes squeezing shut as his breathing switches from nose to mouth, attempting to either will the queasy feelings away or let them come full force.

            Unfortunately, it seems neither seem to be the answer. The longer he’s slumped there the less time he has to make it back before the last airship was to ascend, and the thought only adds to the nervousness he’d already been buried beneath. A quiet curse and Jaune is removing one of the fingerless gloves he often sported, shoving the item into his pocket for safe keeping. Fingers outstretch and just the thought of shoving them to his mouth causes his body to rock with a forceful gag, quickly leaning back to the tree for support as nothing more than a dry heave wheezes out pathetically.

            The acidic taste of bile that rises to his throat is but a warning sign to get this done and over with, yet it’s hesitant that fingers slip into his mouth, shaky as they slide passed pale lips. Eyes squeeze shut as tears begin to burn, finger tips all but reaching the back of a sensitive throat before their being gagged around, the fresh meal he’d only just consumed being forced out. Hand was quick to be removed before Jaune is doubling over, retching violently as the contents of an aching stomach is tasted again, splattering onto the dry grass. There is but a second to regain himself before he’s almost knocked to his knees with the second round of vomit, though is able to keep his balance thanks to the bark he’d gripped onto.

            Coughing and sputtering to the rawness of his throat and the disgusting taste that lingered he spits a wad of saliva and acid, cringing now to the complete mess that had been made. It takes a moment for him to catch his breath, and he’s almost unsure if he’s well enough to move, feeling as if he could collapse and merely lay there while his body worked its strength back up. Despite the nervousness that still lingered the sick feeling had begun to subside, his stomach being re-emptied leaving (hopefully) nothing more to come up during the oncoming battle.

            The hand that was still gloved reaches up to wipe his eyes and mouth, a grimace settled over his features and a light sheen of sweat coating his forehead, feeling now, more disgusted than anything, which perhaps was an improvement from before. There is but a moment where he feels as if he can move, to make his way to his team and continue on, but moments are _fleeting_.

            “Oh come _on_ —“

            Words are broken and raw and barely audible before stopped by a heave, Jaune unable to catch himself before his stomach forces up anything that happens to be left, which really, is not much, and leaves him with nothing more than a mouthful of sticky saliva to be expelled. Regret. The feeling never once left, and he knew all could have been avoided if he hadn’t thought with his stomach rather than his mind, and certainly now, he was beginning to learn on which to take priority over.

 It’s as if he’s fallen into some sort of daze as he’s finally able to back himself up and turn around, to retreat from his hiding spot and leave the events to be forgotten, though the tight feeling in his stomach and the anxiety that continued to pump his veins would not let such thing happen; and surely a ride on the ships would _not_ make for a very pleasant time. 


End file.
